


The Gilded Man

by Elywyngirlie



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi
Genre: 19th century world, Aether, F/M, Gen, Kylo and Rey are detectives, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Prostitution, Slow Burn, Steampunk World, Violence, when i say slow burn i mean slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-03-07 06:05:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13428393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elywyngirlie/pseuds/Elywyngirlie
Summary: A murderer is terrorizing the streets of New Manhattan and detective Kylo Ren can taste the corrupt Jedi behind it. He seeks the evidence to destroy the order when the captain calls in the best and the brightest from around the country to catch the Battery Bludgeoner.Rey Jones is one of the best detectives in the Jakku precinct. But she has a secret, one so dangerous that it will get her hanged if anyone finds out. Kylo can sense it on her. Assigned as partners by the chief, they must work together to stop whoever is murdering women and Rey must hide from Kylo as he seeks to take the secrets from her head, even as trust, and perhaps something more, grows between them.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> "Does God think that because it rains in torrents  
> that I will not go to Peru and destroy the world?  
> God. The boot heel an inch above your head is mine.  
> God, say your prayers." 
> 
> Ai, The Gilded Man

He had struck again. That was all she could think as she stared down at the body, rain dripping down from her umbrella, the body already fish belly white.

“Should we call for the cops, ma’am?” asked her assistant, her voice a small squeak behind her hand. Rose sighed and nodded as she handed her handkerchief to the girl. The stink of ozone lay heavy in the air, drawing dread to her very roots.

“I think this time we should,” she replied distantly, gathering her skirts and kneeling down, to rest a gloved hand on the body’s knee. She knew this girl. She had worked for her for a few months. A slight pretty thing with soft brown hair and a swan like neck, now marred with ragged red lines and blood mingling with rain. Her face a mush of broken bones, her nose lying crooked, her mouth open in protest.

The Battery Bludgeoner had done it again, Rose mused. Another street whore, another back alley, another rainy night. His fourth in a month, and the fourth they would know of, she thought, remembering the bodies she had seen before. Bodies that she had chosen to have sent away and buried; better to be forgotten than to have a cop digging his nose into her business. Not like they would care; prostitution was an acceptable woman’s business. But they would find no male partner behind her house and that was trouble she did not need.  Her purse was stretched thin with bribes as it was.

She stood up and beckoned her assistant closer to her.

“Don’t let them know she worked for us,” she told the girl quickly. “Just say we were taking a short cut and happened upon the body. We shall wait for them in that bar there.” She pointed at the brightly lit place a few blocks down.  Her girl nodded and ran off, little splashes fading as she rounded the corner.

Rose swallowed a sniff as she stared at the body. Christina had been full of dreams, she remembered. And had hoped to strike out on her own, hoped to become a governess or a seamstress at some point. Something more respectable, she had said the day she left. Rose had nodded in understanding and had pressed more than her due wages into the young woman’s hand. That was a little less than six weeks ago.

Rose felt the weight of her years as she turned and trudged toward the bar, knowing in her heart that the police would do very little. After all, what did a woman expect out on the streets without a male escort? The expected response was ash in her mouth and she ordered a whiskey to chase it away. She slumped in a corner booth, a sad figure, waiting for the police to arrive.

Kylo Ren did not ask those questions and did not make those statements.

He took the seat across from her and asked her if she wanted another whiskey. She looked at him, startled. The gas lights did little to hide the youth in his face and the hope in his eyes. Her heart wilted a little at realizing they had sent a rookie to appease her rather than someone who would solve the case.

“Are you comfortable ma’am?” he asked politely, a small ale in front of him.

“Are you?” He stared at her, his eyes dark and welcoming. She noted the sooty fringe of lashes around them and wondered if a pretty boy like him wouldn’t mind picking up a few extra dollars in her establishment. He remained silent and she shifted in her seat.

“I am detective Kylo Ren,” he said quietly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a notebook and a wireless telegraph. “I would like to know what happened this evening. How did you find the young woman?” Rose suppressed the need to start at his words. Young woman. Not a body.

A rookie, she sighed bitterly.

“We were taking a short cut through the alley there,” she pointed down the road. “We saw the body and thought it was perhaps a bundle of clothes or whatnot in the alley until we got closer. Unfortunately, it was...a body.”

“Did you know her?”

“Why would you ask that?”

Kylo studied her. “You’re not upset. You’re angry, maybe frustrated.”

“A woman can be angry that she cannot walk without being harmed!” Rose snapped.

“Perhaps,” he replied amiably, leaning back in his seat. “But you know as well as I that the Decency Code tells us otherwise. I know you’ve got the chief as one of your customers.” Rose’s mouth dropped open at his bald statements: “So perhaps you think you’re safe. Perhaps you think flaunting the law will be overlooked. A woman, alone, in the night.” He mocked her predicament and she gathered her shawl around her shoulders, mouth tightening as anger buzzed in her skull.

“But I don’t care about that.” Kylo stated emphatically.

“Don’t you?” Rose whispered, forcing her hand not to shake as she took a sip of her whiskey. A corner of Kylo’s mouth eased up.

“No, I don’t. I just want to know why you care so much about her.” Rose held his gaze, horror and wonder warring within her.

“Perhaps a woman can feel horror when she is no longer safe in the evening.” A shiver ran up her spine, spider legs ratcheting into her mind. She reached up to scrub her head, chest tightening as nails scraped along the inside of her skull. She stared at Kylo, at his intense gaze, at his slack mouth.

“You’re a Jedi…” she breathed.

“None so good,” he answered easily, attention sharpening. He sighed and took a long swallow of his beer. Rose shrunk in her seat. A Jedi. She recalled the ozone smell in the air around Christina. A Jedi, she mused, tapping into the aether....using it as a weapon. She bit her lip and looked out the window.

“I won’t rest until I find her killer,” Kylo promised as he rose from his seat. Rose ignored him, dismissing him from her mind.

“It won’t matter that she’s a prostitute, Ms. Tico,” he added softly. Rose turned then and leveled an even look at him.

“She wasn’t. She was a governess,” she said coolly and Kylo tipped his head.

“But of course,” he murmured. He returned his hat to his head and strolled out the door, the bell chiming as he left. A few minutes later, Rose followed, waving down a carriage and barking out orders to take her to Alderaan House.

 

Kylo stared down at the body as the medical technicians swarmed the area. Bright flashes from the camera shattered his concentration and he turned away, taking a deep breath, rain splattering down from his brim.

Ozone sat thick in the air, its taste both familiar and alien to him. It’d be years since he had smelled it so strongly. His mind raced through the members of the Jedi Order of New Manhattan. None of them had the power to do something like this from a distance; they would have to be closer, perhaps no more than a few blocks away. 

“Can we take the body sir?” a technician asked. Kylo waved them away. The body would tell them little at this point if it were a Jedi, he thought. Finally, they show their true corrupt selves. Dark joy coursed through him at the possibility of the world seeing how truly vile the Jedi Order was. His fingertips sparked as power flared in his body, eager as the hope to fight the Jedi in the open bloomed within him. 

He bit his lip, tasting copper as his teeth snagged flesh. Shaking himself from his reverie, he pulled out the wireless transmitter and began tapping out a message: _Seems to be the Bludgeoner Stop Don’t let the paps call this one a whore._  He knew Thanisson would hate the name Bludgeoner, finding the use of the popular tabloid name distasteful. But Unsub was rapidly becoming disheartening. He wanted this one to be a governess. Until now, the deaths were easily dismissed--whores were easy to come by, women taking the easiest work allowed under the Decency laws. But a governess had a sense of class, would drive fear into those reading the sordid details in the New Manhattan Times tomorrow morning.

And someone would feed off that fear, Kylo thought. And grow reckless. And that’s how I’ll find him.

* * *

 

She tapped the foot and gave it a push, watching as it rolled to the side. Rey sighed.

“What happened here, doctor?”

“Well, we re-animated and he was so surprised that he had a heart attack,” Doctor Thompson explained with a half shrug. Rey looked up at him, peering over the body.

“Coming back to life did him in then?”

“Yep. Afraid so.”

“You gonna try again?”

The doctor spread his hands amiably. “I dunno. Seems like a waste of aether. We didn’t expect much after his head was partially bashed in. Now with a broken tinker…” He shrugged again and the side of Rey’s mouth lifted upward.

“That’s a practical way to look at it.” The amusement tipped her low voice and Thompson snorted.

“We’re on a budget. I can’t waste aether on blokes like this. Not when you can be out there, pounding dust, detective Jones.” She looked up at him and he nodded, tugging the curtain closed. Closing her eyes and swallowing, Rey reached into that part of herself, barely understood and deep, and pulled it to her, struggling to wrap it around her. She reached a hand out, touching the exposed ankle and gasped, slamming back back back--

 

_“You did it one last time!” the shadow snarled. Rey raised her hand in alarm, pain ripping through her._

_“I won’t! I promise!” she sputtered, thick round vowels rolling from her mouth. The shadow snarled and in the glimmer of the gaslight she saw his face. A thin nose shoved into a puffy face, a bruise fading around his jaw, greasy hair clinging to his cheek. And, in his hand, a large brick._

_“No!” she screamed, scrambling back as the brick slammed into her face again and again, stars exploding in her vision, her spine arching off the floor, the taste of blood burning in her mouth. She fell, darkness enveloping her, warm and inviting. She struggled, turning from it, even as its tentacles wrapped around her, dragging her down._

 

Cold water splashed on her face and Rey gasped, falling back and into Thompson’s arms.

“You alright there?” he asked, not bothering to hide his panic. He laid her gently on the ground, propped up by a table, before rising and pouring her a measure of brandy. Rey took it gratefully, her fingers refusing to cooperate to close around the glass. Her bottom lip trembled as the cold darkness continued to crawl its way through her limbs. She pushed at it, reaching for the light within, tears springing to her eyes as she found it tar like and resistant.

Thompson crouched beside her and helped her sip the liquid.Warmth rolled through her and she found it easier to push at the darkness until she was bathed in the light. She gleefully wiggled her toes and found them responsive.

“It’s getting worse,” he murmured as she slumped against the table.

“It’s hard to resist,” she agreed and he shook his head.

“You need to be trained.” Rey blew out her breath and stared at him. He was the only one on who knew her secret. Well, besides Jess.

“You know they won’t take...my kind,” she amended hastily, the ever present worry gnawing at her. Thompson shook his head and stood up.

“If you won’t be the one to start the change, then maybe no one will.” She rolled her shoulders as she climbed to her feet, embarrassed that she still needed to use the table to stand up. She coughed once and drained the glass, avoiding the body on the table. She picked up her hat and looked at Thompson. He sat slumped in his chair, his age thick on his face.

"No one can tell you're a woman, Rey." He spoke to the body and Rey nodded, running her hand through her short cropped hair. Detective Jones gave his thanks before heading out the door into the heat and bustle of Jakku, leaving the worry and cold behind.


	2. Chapter 1: The Docks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey Sherlocks the hell out of the case

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thank you so much for all of your feedback guys! I hope you enjoy this next chapter. 
> 
> I am planning on doing weekend updates; however, I am traveling this weekend so here is a midweek one instead. 
> 
> No Kylo here but all about our girl, I mean boy, I mean girl, Rey.

Niima Outpost in the Jakku province was a rusty, dust coated, river post with the airs of a great town. Zeppelins sputtered ahead, anchoring just at the edges of town before disappearing into the wilds. The harsh sun beat down on the small town at the very end of America, perched on a muddy winding river, before civilization ended and only waves of grass and desert gleamed in the sun. 

Rey shoved her handkerchief over her mouth as a steamcoach chugged past, kicking up dirt along its caterpillar track, and mixing it with the black smoke it belched overhead. She moved along the street and out of the public throughways. As Niima Outpost grew bigger, the town took it upon themselves to add covered and secured walkways. “To protect the citizens from the violence of the street,” they argued but Rey was more than a little sure it was because someone complained about the coal dust on their dress. 

Walkways dotted the skies, connecting buildings on second or third floors and Rey covered the short distance between the morgue and the precinct quickly. She found the office earsplitting as usual, the windows open to let in the rare cool breeze. Typewriter keys clacked loudly, phones rang shrilly, and she spied Brown interviewing a whore, her bodice still half open. Without thinking, Rey grabbed a blanket from the closet and walked over, draping it over the woman’s shoulders. Brown shot her an odd glance and Rey gave him a short shake of her head. 

A few of the officers made some sly comments and Rey made a rude gesture back as she walked into the partitioned area for detectives, sealed off by a large window and glass door.  Four desks clustered together and reeked of sweat, rye, and ink. A squat black stove stood in the corner, useful in winter, and the windows were all open to let in the heat and the rancid smell of coal burning trucks. 

She was alone for once and she sat down at the desk, taking a sip of the cold black tea from the morning before promptly spitting it out. Jeffries laced it with whiskey, she thought wryly, before neatly sliding in a crisp sheet of paper and rapidly summarizing today’s report on the electric typewriter. 

Rey shifted in her seat and peered out the window onto the bullpen. Confirming that no one was looking, she snaked her hand up her shirt to adjust her breast bands. Sweat was collecting underneath them and she cursed the unusually hot summer. They were beginning to ache, as they usually did after a long day, and she looked forward to a bath this evening. 

But first--the docks. The docks where she had to swagger along the sunbleached boards and thrust her shoulders forward and be as threatening as possible. Because some days the badge meant nothing there and Rey knew she appeared to be a slight boy. She practiced a few opening salvos under her breath as she typed.  

It had taken her a long while to get down the patterns of male speech when she first decided to take a job dressed as a man, but now she enjoyed it, the slang and rangeyness of it comfortable in her mouth. It felt more at home than the polite talk of the drawing room that she was expected to perform before Rey Jones disappeared. Now Raymond aka Ray Jones, detective constable, only existed. 

Shaking her head, abandoning gloomy thoughts, Rey gathered her stuff together. She committed the few facts to memory and drew some conjectures. Whoever killed Sawyer knew him and he had obviously made overtures to a woman that the other man found disrespectful. Her skin began to crawl as she thought back to that vision and she stood up abruptly, running down to the yard to claim a steamcoach before they were all gone. 

She checked her revolved before she climbed in and girded herself mentally for a fight.  Sawyer’s face was battered enough that whoever did it would have marks on their knuckles, she thought. No way you took skin like that without losing some of your own. 

Rey adeptly steered the hulking beast of a steamcoach toward the river docks at the south end of town. The air began to thin from the smog as she neared the docks along the mighty Mississippi. Rey spied the stacks of the steamships and the masts of the engine-ran wooden ships. She knew from her time at the docks below that the supervisor was an idiot and that she needed to find Brideau. She wound her way along the crowded wharves, passing a group of sweaty men lifting large crates off wagons. The din only grew harsher as she neared the river. The creak of the ropes, the clanking of the chains, the puffing of the engines all married with the sloshing of the river and its thick slimy smell, overlaid with a dusting of coal smoke forced Rey to think about covering her nose. But she noted only a few women did as they stood by a gangplank, carpet bags in hand. A large man stood beside them, ham sized fists on his hip. 

A paid chaperone, she thought, as she scanned the area. A lucrative position for a certain type of men, especially after the war. They guaranteed the safety of women who had to travel or work without male supervision. And they were forced to take a potent chemical mixture that altered their chemistry so they felt no attraction toward the women. 

Just another consequence of the Decency laws, enforced with an iron fist after the war, she thought warily. She felt her shoulders stiffen and inhaled sharply--she was being watched. Rey peeked over her shoulder to see a boy, barely older than ten, trailing her, body twisted slightly. To hide a belly sticker, she thought grimly. She stopped, whirling around to confront the boy. 

He was lean, about fourteen or fifteen, a head shorter than her with broad shoulders and a sun weathered face. 

“I am Detective Jones of the Jakku police department,” she announced loudly, angling her hip so that the sun glinted off the badge on her belt. The sunbeams also struck her revolver clearly as she swung her duster open. She lowered her hand to rest near her gun. 

“I am here to find out which of you knew Nathaniel Sawyer.”

“I knew him alright,” the boy said with a deep twang. “But it will cost you.” Rey’s brow furrowed and she tried not to smile, sure some of her contempt was bleeding through.

“I’m a police detective. You give it to me or you cool your heels overnight in my brig,” she replied easily, forcing her shoulders to remain relaxed, even as she felt her back burning with the weight of the gazes--some curious, some malicious, and others disinterested. The kid spit and gestured toward her. 

“Sawyer ain’t here,” he replied and she smirked.

“I know. He’s in the morgue.” She heard an intake of breath around her and the docks fell silent for a moment. The young boy scowled and his gaze flickered above her shoulder. She looked up to see a rangy man with sun burnt skin staring down at her from a stack of boxes. 

“I knew Sawyer,” he rumbled.

“Of course you did, Nicholas,” she greeted and he rewarded her with a brief smile. He leapt down onto the smaller boxes, making his way toward her. She waited, one eye on the smaller boy. As if sending her apprehension, Brideau ordered the boy to make himself useful before he turned and ran a critical eye over her. 

“You again, huh? I guess Sawyer wasn’t found passed out on some road.”

“Did he do that often?”

“You’re answering questions with other questions again,” he warned teasingly. 

“Don’t change what works,” she replied, squaring her shoulders. “I suspect that it was over a woman.” Nicholas’s brows traveled north as one unit, she thought amusedly. She studied him, his jaw working as he thought, before she frowned. There was a slight tug on her--

“Caught you!” she shouted, holding on to the fist of the young boy. Brideau sighed. 

“Knock it off! This man is my guest.” The boy bared his teeth, wiggling his way free, before disappearing between boxes. 

Brideau sighed: “You’re safe with me. The raggers will leave you alone.”

“Oh yeah, I feel loads safer now,” Rey drawled and Brideau surprised her with a bright smile. 

He beckoned her to follow as he started down the docks, planks heaving under his steps.

“Sawyer was a cargo loader, primarily for the ships coming from Chandrila down to New Orleans,” Brideau explained as Jones followed in his footsteps, scrambling to keep up with his long strides. “He ran a small crew, about four men, and had a drinking problem.” He stopped abruptly and looked down at her. “How did he die? Was he found floating?”

“Wasn’t a good swimmer?” she asked and he chuffed, an explosion of air, as he planted his hands on hips. “No, he wasn’t found in the river. His head had been bashed in. We found him a few miles from his home.” 

Nicholas seemed to falter, his eyes dimming. He chewed his bottom lip while he looked at the detective and Rey took a moment to study him. The calloused hands, broad shoulders, his sandy colored hair uncovered--his unblemished hands. But strong enough that he could take a weight and bash someone’s head in, she mused. Strength wasn’t enough here. Guilt twinged through her as she was examining, if not a friend a well known acquaintance, as if he were a murder suspect. She shrugged it away; it was all part of the job. 

“Did he have a woman or was he pursuing someone else’s woman?” she asked, keeping her voice low and soft. 

“No one that I know of,” he said a bit too hurriedly and Rey sighed internally. 

“Sure you do.” 

“Why do cops always assume the worse about someone?”

Rey shrugged and spread her hands, temper rising. “I don’t know this man. I only know I’m responsible for making sure he receives justice. He may have been one of your men but now he’s mine. And I will make sure his killer is caught. But I can’t do it alone.” She glared up at him, hands clenching at her side. Sawyer was her victim; she owed him justice. She owed his family an answer. And she would get it, with or without Brideau’s cooperation. 

Something flickered in Brideau’s eyes, comprehension or empathy, she wasn’t sure, but he nodded. 

“I’ll take you to meet his crew,” he conceded, before turning and walking down the docks toward a large steamer. “But you let me do the talking.”

“Don’t I always,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. Brideau strode quickly down the wharves to the cargo ships where three men were unloading crates from a transporter. 

“Gonzalez, Fabre, Jegou,” Nicholas commanded, coming to a halt. The three men paused, one stopping to lower a box to the ground. They were all tall and massive, Rey thought with a panicked gulp. Gonzalez had bronzed skin and a neat mustache. Fabre was the shortest with a crop of blonde hair and a sunburnt nose while Jegou had long black hair tied back from his face. She tucked their descriptions away in the clinical part of her mind while she digested her lack of height among the dock workers. She had never felt smaller in her life and suddenly wondered if posing as a man wasn’t the biggest joke. She was a child compared to these mountains. 

“Who’s that?” Jegou asked, jutting his chin toward Rey. She narrowed her eyes and drew herself up straight. She hadn’t let herself be intimidated since she started this job six years ago. She wasn’t starting now. 

“This is a detective. Something bad happened to Nat,” Brideau began just as she opened her mouth. “I want you to answer his questions.”

“Giving to the cops? Really?” Fabre demanded. “You know we take care of our own.”

“And where we you doing that Fabre?” Brideau shot back. “You’re here loading cargo. No one came by to tell me anything.”

“We all gotta get paid somehow,” Gonzalez muttered, looking away. Rey noticed how Jegou scowled at her, edging away. 

“Did any of you spend time with Sawyer last night?” she asked. Fabre snorted. 

“Sawyer. Just another body to you,” he growled and Brideau slapped him on the back of his head. 

“I said answer the questions,” he ordered and Fabre gripped the gangplank bannister tightly, his knuckles turning white.

Unblemished knuckles. 

Rey turned to look at Jegou’s hands, hidden by his back, as he lounged on the other side of the gangplank. She stepped forward and felt the boards dip beneath her. Brideau tried to wave her away but she ignored him. 

“Let me see your hands,” she commanded Jegou. He sneered at her. She took another step, hand out to grab his when he leapt forward, fist connecting with her jaw, before darting around Brideau. She stumbled back, jaw bursting with pain, and screamed at Brideau. 

“Grab him!” 

Fabre began to move and Rey grabbed his wrist, slapping a handcuff on it and chaining him to the gangplank.

“No, you knew he did this!” she snapped and Brideau looked startled. But he didn’t pause to question. Instead he raised his hands to his lips and let out a sharp piercing whistle. Rey looked at him, startled, hands flying to her ears. But he only smiled cockily and gestured down the dock. 

The small boy from earlier emerged from the sides, a group of boys around him. They began to give chase and Rey smiled. 

“They do have their uses.”

“Your army awaits, ma’am,” he agreed. “I’d catch up with them.”

“Fabre?” she hesitated and Brideau waved at Gonzalez. 

“You want your pay, you don’t let him go,” he snapped and Gonzalez nodded once. Rey took off at once, boots pounding, as she raced after the boys. She was grateful for her lanky frame then, ducking under low overhangs and threading her way between men. Jegou had a good start but the boys were dogging him, throwing rocks at him as he ran. He stopped to turn around and smack one boy with the back of his hand, tossing the boy to the ground. 

Rey barely slowed, scooping up the boy in one smooth motion, and depositing him to the side. She would check on him later, she told herself, thundering after Jegou, her heart in her throat. There was a small ferry up ahead. If he got aboard, she’d be sunk. The river was not her jurisdiction but belonged to the Order of the Styx. They wouldn’t care about the death of a dock worker. 

She dodged around a bulky dock worker and was knocked back by his turning shoulder, skidding to the ground. The rangy boy from earlier ran up, a slingshot swinging from his belt. She snatched the rocks out of his hand and his sling shot. She squinted at Jegou’s dark head and aimed. The rock flew across the docks and hit him squarely in the head. He tumbled down and the boy whooped, running toward Jegou. The gang piled on top of him as she slowly made her way toward him. 

“Not a bad shot,” the boy told her. She returned his sling to him with a wink. 

“Good bit of equipment,” she complimented and he beamed. The boys helped her get Jegou to his feet just as Brideu ran up, chest wheezing. 

“You’re under arrest for the murder of Nathaniel Sawyer,” she told him as she snapped the cuffs around his wrists. The boys jeered thena and she felt almost proud of them in that moment. She looked at his bruised and torn knuckles before turning to greet Brideau. He was grimacing, hand covering his mouth. 

“Nate didn’t deserve this.”

“They rarely do,” she replied. “We’ll get out of them why it happened and I’ll let you know.” 

“I appreciate that,” he said. “How did you know it was Jegou and Fabre?”

“Fabre was being distracting while Jegou was trying to slide away. Not showing his hands while Fabre was being obvious. I don’t know how much Fabre participated in it, but he knew about it,” she explained. Brideau made a noise of appreciation.

“I’ll call on you again for a follow up,” he promised as she led Jegou away and used her wireless telegraph to request assistance for Fabre. 

It was only once she loaded the prisoners into the caged coach that she realized that Brideau had called her ma’am. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of world building here but hang in there because Kylo is a coming!   
> (My mind just went somewhere else with that phrase, Rey dear)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey gets some offers that she cannot refuse

The hand skated over the letter, rough letters dribbling from the pen’s tip. 

 

_ The hand skated over the letter, rough letters dribbling from the pen’s tip. Kylo frowned, brows knitting together.  _

_ “Sir do you really think…?” _

_ “I do,” Thanisson said firmly.  Kylo pressed his lips together and glowered at his captain.  _

_ “I doubt they’ll be useful.” _

_ “And you’ve had this case for weeks and have brought nothing more than your theories about the Jedi,” his captain scoffed.  _

 

Rey chewed her lip, drumming her fingers on her thighs as her captain dried the letter. 

“SIr, do you really think--”

“Hush, Jones, your prattling gives me a headache,” Wexley rumbled, reaching for his whiskey bottle. His cheeks were ruddy and his curls a riot around his drawn face. 

“I doubt I will be useful.” 

“You’re one of the best in the region!” Wexley nearly roared, sweat gliding down his jowl. He swatted at it irritably and mumbled about the kriffin’ heat. The windows were open, the sky painted a harsh purple and peach, and the air stifling. Rey felt the sweat collecting in her breast bands and longed for the cool bath she should be enjoying. But after booking Jegou, she had been called into the captain’s office. 

“Look, this murderer, the so-called Battery Bludgeoner has terrorized the city for weeks now. The main detective has got kriffin’ all. Even if you’re just pounding a beat, it's one more set of eyes out for this creep. And,” Wexley drew in a deep breath, “it will look good when you’re up for your sargeant’s exam. You’ll learn from it, I promise.” 

 

_ “Honestly, sir, I don’t mind you calling in other city detectives but Jakku? Tatooine province?” The derision rolled off his tongue and Thanisson shook his head.  _

_ “You forget I know who you are,” the older man groaned. “Not everyone graduates from Harvard university, Kylo. I’ve asked for the best records and I’ve gotten a few excellent candidates.” _

_ “As long as I’m not working with them.”  _

_ “You will do exactly as you’re told!” Thanisson snapped, rising from his seat. Despite his rank, he failed to tower over Kylo who merely placidly gazed at the other man. “Or I’ll send you back to Alderaan House and you’ll see what she can get you.” Kylo sneered and turned on his heel, fairly stomping out of the office and demanding a steamcoach from the dazed secretary. He had work to do.  _

 

“Very well, sir,” Rey agreed at last. She wondered how she would survive again in an all male police dorm and thought about requesting a single. 

“I’ve reached out to a friend of yours,” Wexley offered. Rey raised a brow and waited. 

“Maz Kanata now runs a home in New Manhattan. She’s willing to house you.” He sat back, a faint smile on his features, and waited for her praise. Rey swallowed her relief and gave a tremulous grin. 

“Thank you, sir. Staying with her is preferable to the dorms.”

“Full of idiots who think they know everything,” her captain agreed. “Thompson will accompany you. Your flight is tomorrow morning. Better finish up your report on this latest and get home to pack.”

“Yes, sir.” Rey jumped to her feet and nodded smartly at her captain. “And sir--thank you.” Wexley waved her away. 

“Out of here! Next thing I want to hear about you is that you caught this murderer. Make us look good, kid.” 

 

Rey finished typing up her report, signing it at the bottom, just as the night shift began to roll in. 

This murder boiled down to an act of rage over a woman. Sawyer had gotten drunk one too many times while playing poker at Jegou’s flop and had let his hands roam a bit more than they should have. Jegou took umbrage and used a brick to resolve his issues. It could have been more easily handled by a conversation or requesting a transfer from Brideau. He would have granted it, she was sure, thinking back to his warm eyes, fear creeping up her spine as he knew her secret. That was a weighty thing he had now, something he could use, a valuable bargaining chip. She wondered what his price would be; there would be one, she had no doubt. People thrived on secrets and their currency . She cleared her throat and forced her mind back to the matter on hand. 

It was easy enough with Jegou’s words echoing in her memory. 

“Chantelle is mine! And any man who touches her is forfeit! She belongs to me!” Spittle flew from his lips as she had shoved him into the jail cell. Rey had calmly wiped it off her cheek and watched him sink to the floor, screaming for Chantelle. She had heard enough, more than enough to cement in her mind that her cross dressing did a lot more than provide her with a secure job. It protected her from being just another object in a man’s home. 

She was more than that. 

As Rey organized the report to drop into her captain’s desk, her office door swung open and Brideau filled the frame. She halted, conscious of the sweat winding its way down her neck, her collar suddenly constricting. 

Brideau’s gaze swept over the room, taking in the potbellied stove in the corner, the windows cracked open to admit the dry air, the papers stacked precariously on the desks, before landing on her. Rey’s hand drifted toward her revolver but she forced herself to wait, stomach clenching as she mentally plotted her escape route. 

“I saw Jegou,” Brideau said tiredly, leaning against the doorframe. “Do you know when he’ll hang?”

“Not for me to say,” Rey got out through stiff lips. “That’s for a judge and jury to decide. He’s scheduled for a hearing tomorrow.”

“And you’ll give testimony?” She shook her head. 

“I’m off on another case.” Time moved slow and thick as resin, threatening to stick her feet to the floor, as she waited for Brideau to make his offer. What would he take in payment for her silence? She had only dealt with this once before and the resolution still sat heavy in her belly when she thought of it. 

“Well, then,” he finally said, scratching just under the brim of his cap. “I’ll see you around then.” 

She started: “That’s it?” He cocked a brow at her and a smile spread across his features. 

“Ah, you caught it then.” She nodded eagerly and he let out a slow rumble of a laugh. “Don’t worry, Rey. My sister did the same. If you’re ever in trouble on the river, ask for Danny of the Order of the Styx.” Relief burst through Rey, so stark and painful, that she sagged on her desk. Nicholas moved toward her, holding her steady around her shoulders. 

“Listen, I wouldn’t mind, you know, taking you out when you get back. You always seemed a pretty boy and now….well….” he gave one of his trademarked crooked smiles, one Rey knew melted the knickers off dozens of women before her. She licked her lips and noted the way his eyes tracked the movement of her tongue. 

“Not all of us are like the men you’ve got locked below,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of her ear. She moved away from him and crossed her arms over her chest. “Some of us just want to make a pretty girl feel good.” His gaze raked over her, assessing, and she wondered how he would close his argument. “I can make you feel good.” And there it was. The line she’d heard women say they had heard. Before they were confined to the kitchen, bellies swollen with babes, and a lifetime of servitude in front of them. All for a fleeting moment of pleasure. Rey held her disgust, forced it back down, forced herself to give a flash of a smile. 

Brideau waved her onward and she exited her office, pausing only to slip her report to the captain’s secretary. The room was loud and stank of alcohol, the night beat dragging in the local drunks for their free night in the jail. Many of them were familiar to Rey and waved as they were fingerprinted. 

“Ah, Jones,” the night sergeant said, presiding behind the large front desk. “Your lady has been waiting for you. Brought some delicious cookies.” He waved a large snickerdoodle at her before biting into it and Rey grinned. She turned to see Jess sitting demurely, ankles tucked together, in a neat pinstripe walking gown. Brideau looked from her to Jess and tipped his head, an odd gleam in his eye.

“You’re very clever,” he murmured before making his exit, but not without a rakish glance over his shoulder. Jess frowned as she rose, studying him. 

“I don’t like the way he looked at you.”

“Isn’t that the way most men look at women?” Rey asked lightly and Jess shrugged. 

“Some men, not all.”

“You’re too forgiving.”

“And you’re not forgiving enough.” Rey grinned and offered her arm. It was well known in the station that Detective Ray Jones had a flirtation with the pretty Miss Jessica Pava, manager of a boarding house for her brother. Jess provided a cover for her and she provided cover for Jess, who had no interest in men, and whose lover also resided in the house. It worked well both ways, Rey mused, and it kept her in good food and safe. And the presence of an officer in a boarding house, Jess often said, kept them safe from would be intruders and burglars and most people who would think to use a boarding house for criminal enterprise.  

The boarding house was a lovely blue clapboard three story with a greengrocer on one side and a family home on the other. Jess had dinner waiting when they arrived and Rey eagerly tucked in while filling her in on the day’s events. Jess, ever efficient, began creating a packing list for her friend. 

“You certainly were busy today,” Jess commented while she reviewed her list. 

“I see you took in more lodgers,” Rey pointed out and Jess nodded. She had spent her day at the books, writing her monthly report for her brother and bustling around the house, cooking meals and stitching clothes. Including a dress that she had customized for Rey and was urging her to take on her trip.  

“I don’t need that,” Rey protested and Jess shrugged. 

“You might. You don’t know what New Manhattan will be like. Maybe you will need to go undercover. Or,” and with a licentious grin, “you might meet a man.”

“I don’t need a man,” Rey scoffed. Jess rolled her eyes and spooned more vegetables on Rey’s plate. 

“You’ve not even been kissed. You don’t know what you need.”

“I have so! It wasn’t that great.” Rey ducked her head and began to shove the food into her mouth, Jess shaking her head sadly. 

“Probably he wasn’t a good kisser then,” she replied as she returned to the kitchen. “Or maybe you need a woman.” Rey sighed and leaned back in her chair. 

“I don’t need anyone.” Jess shot a dry look over at her friend and Rey chuckled. 

“Look, Jess. I love you. And you are happy here. You love taking care of people. I...I don’t want that.”

“Not every man will demand that.” Rey snorted and shook her head.

“It’s all I’ve ever seen.” 

“Niima Outpost is a pimple on the world’s ass,” Jess declared. “You’ll see more in New Manhattan. Let yourself want, Rey. You really see yourself five ten years down the road living this same life? Hiding as a man? Your whole life a lie?” Rey sucked in her bottom lip, Jess’s words thick on her skin. She had spent years just trying to survive, years learning how to craft her disguise. And, finally, when she thought she could make it, a man saw  through her and her best friend demanded that she give it all up.

And for what? What was she without Ray Jones? She thought of her life before and shuddered. When the wanted posters disappeared, she had allowed herself to breathe again, to live again. And now her foundation had cracks in it. 

Rey took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. She was being assigned to a special case. She was going to help bring down a notorious killer. Whatever problems here could wait until her return. 

 

_ Kylo studied the high walls of the Jedi Order’s monastery north of the city. The Cloisters were a testament to the excess of the Jedi, a witness to their sense of privilege. Kylo glowered at   the walls, burying his sparking fingers in his pockets. Power thrummed around him, the very air electric as the clouds munched overhead. He was certain the secret to whoever was battering women was within those walls, was connected to the aether that gave the night its acrid flavor.  _

_ Thanisson’s threat about his mother irked him,reminded me of his own life within those hallowed halls. Halls that promised hope and relief from the aether that sang in him. But that hope was ash and only power like this could damage a body from a distance. This murderer would need to hunt soon. That itch would need to be scratched. Kylo settled into the steamcoach and waited.  _

_ He could wait all night.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our pair shall meet in chapter 4. I wonder who well that will go ;)


	4. The Partner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life, it happens. Sorry. Thanks to the loyal readers out there. 
> 
> Let me know what you think about Kylo and Rey's meet.

The dirigible was at the end of her days, the patchwork skin rough in the daylight. Rey shaded her eyes as she looked up at it, brushing aside the whisper of excitement. She had never ridden in a dirigible before. Trains, sure, but the sky ships were often reserved for the wealthiest and for Very Important People. Rey, in either iteration as a woman or a police detective, qualified as neither.

Yet the ticket gleamed in her hand, gilt edges catching the early morning sunlight. Somehow she had one. And she climbed aboard the elevator that rose two stories to where the beast was tied to a sky platform, chin held high, even as her old suit brushed against the finest fashions. 

“Ah, Jones, you’re here,” Thompson greeted, waving at her from a window side table. Rey slipped between the large bustles protruding from a conclave of women and took the seat across from him, swiping his coffee and taking a long swig. He raised a brow and shook his head, turning back to the pile of folders on the table.

“What’s this then?” she asked with a jerk of her chin. 

“I know the doctor assisting on this case in New York. He was kind enough to send facsimiles of his files with the request to assist.” He pushed one tower toward her. “Your reading.” 

“Don’t we sort of already know his modus operandi?” Rey asked, bandying about the new word she had read in a book. Thompson snorted.

“It’s modus, not mawd-is,” he corrected gently, fingers brushing her knuckles in a reassuring gesture as he poured another cup of coffee. Rey started as the other engine kicked in, a loud humming against her feet. She watched as the men below scurried around the pier, hustling in the last passengers, and untying the dock. The captain was, of course, a man, his hair styled in curling waves, the wax still bright on his moustache as he kissed the hands of the silk clad ladies. 

“We’re going to take this all the way to New Manhattan?” she asked skeptically.

“No, as far as Takdona Outpost. Then, sadly, a train. A speed train but I hate the jerking about on those things so enjoy this while you can,” the older man replied. “And read. There’s a lot here.” Rey sighed and settled into her seat, flipping open a file cover. She scanned the contents as she watched the captain go around and greet the rest of the passengers. A little girl jumped up and down, tugging on his leather coat, and asking if she could fly.

The captain let out a patronizing chuckle, even as the lines around the mother’s eyes tightened. 

“Girls don’t become captains. However, we can always use more assistants on flights,” he said, nodding toward the women carting trays of food and drinks. The little girl’s face fell and not for the first time, Rey felt a rising boil of hatred toward the Decency laws. Written to protect women when the land was untamed, when war raced across the frontiers and into the cities, they were designed to create curfews and to punish those who harmed the most vulnerable--women and children. But in the decades since the war had ended, the laws had been twisted. The federal laws were the same but each state had evolved them to meet whatever needs they had. So that in a place like Jakku, a woman had to find a man for protection--either working with him in some capacity or another and Rey knew of too many who found that work on their back. 

Because the laws boiled the women down to three roles: daughter, mother, wife. And if one couldn’t be a legal wife, they could earn their keep other ways. It made the men too free and too comfortable in their easy possession. Without a man’s approval, a woman couldn’t draw money, couldn’t open a bank account or open a business. Purchases were regulated. A woman couldn’t open a boarding place without a male business partner who had to sign off on monthly inspections. Jobs became stricter--governess, seamstress, nanny, cook, maid. None could ever rise above that. 

Rey had heard that before the laws grew stricter that women had broken out of the domestic sphere. There was a tale of a woman sharpshooter who wowed crowds around the states. That it really was a woman scientist who had found the way that the aether could be channeled for scientific purposes, such as reanimation. A woman engineer who figured out how to create a gas grid that could deliver the gas into homes without accidentally triggering a fire. A woman spy who helped save the Revolution. 

Probably a woman detective too, Rey mused, as she turned away from the scene and back to the file. Reading them and taking copious notes occupied most of her time, low voiced comments between her and Thompson eating up the silence. A stewardess came by to deposit another tray of coffee and sandwiches at some point. 

“It’s all in his hands, definitely,” Thompson said around a mouthful of cold turkey. 

“Yes I see the bruises,” she remarked, flipping through the pages of corpses, a necklace of purple marks around their necks. 

“But it's more than that. This makes it personal,” Thompson stated forcefully. “You don’t seek out women to beat unless you’ve got a vendetta.”

“Do you think it’s just one woman and it’s carried over, or it’s all women?” she asked carefully. Thompson leaned back in the seat, brushing crumbs off his vest. He was near fifty and a well respected scientist. Rey knew Niima Outpost was lucky to have him but didn’t know until recently that he had been on the police force in Lothal. He had traveled to Coruscant and Corellia and Londinium to study policing methods and the newest sciences in reanimation and forensics, the dreaded word. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “It’s difficult to say.” 

“Will he stop if he finally achieves the one?” she pressed and Thompson shook his wizened head. 

“No. Not now when he’s got a taste for it.” He took a long swallow, emptying his glass, and Rey slumped in her seat, tugging on her bottom lip as she fell into her thoughts. She poured over the rest of the files as they moved into their train compartment, the diesel engine screaming as it raced across the patchwork states. Rey was utterly delighted when they pulled into Grand Central Station two days later. The brilliant kaleidoscope windows, the brightly gleaming brass, the automatons. She paused to watch the ticket automaton and marveled at it. Niima Outpost had a few automatons but never in something as casual as a train station.

“You look like a complete rube,” Thompson remarked, hustling her along. “You need to get out of Niima.”

“I’m here ain’t I?” she responded, somewhat dreamily and Thomspon chuckled.

“That you are. Off to the station or do you need to go to Maz’s first to clean up?” Rey raised her brow at the question and Thompson had the grace to blush. “Some men do that.” She waved aside his protest and followed him out as he waved down a cab. 

Her mouth fell open as the streets of New Amsterdam spread out before her, covered in a thin film of filth and smog. Steering contraptions puttered along the streets, crowded with public conveyances and the odd horse and cart. Thompson waved down a cab that belched a thick cloud of smoke and Rey hacked, covering her mouth. The cabbie grinned.

“New are you?” He reached into a basket at his feet and pulled out two flimsy mouth coverings. “It’ll save your lungs, I promise.” He winked and Rey drew back, suddenly wondering how feminine she appeared, when Thompson chuckled again.

“They matter less here,” he promised and waited as she climbed into the contraption. She gingerly sat on grey seats and pressed the cloth to her mouth. She couldn’t stop staring out the window, Thompson indulging her as the machine skittered across town on jumpy wheels. Their trip had taken the good part of the day and a deep orange sun glowered at them through the smog which hung over the city. 

Rey had never seen a city like this before. Vast walkways dotted the skies, connecting skyscrapers that seemed to pierce the clouds. Dazzling lights announced theatre and store names while women glided around in the most daring fashions. Rey gaped at a woman who bared her shoulder blades and looked at Thompson who shrugged.

“Parisien fashion,” he said as if that explained everything. She turned around and drew in a sharp breath at the sight of the headquarters of the New Manhattan police department. Unlike Niima’s crammed inside a converted warehouse, this building was elegant, with fluted columns and a rounded dome. It ran for nearly a block in a triangular shape and she marveled at the arched entryways. The classical style clashed with the surrounding slumping buildings fashioned of dark red brick and cobwebbed with rusting walkways and fire escapes. Rey observed several saloons, restaurants, a bail bonds office, two attorneys, and a gun shop across the way. 

_ Must always be busy here,  _ she thought as people streamed in and out of the building. She felt as if she were a country bumpkin visiting a fancy city and gave her outfit a critical look. Jess had ordered her to forego the flannel suit and instead offered her a trim gray shirt. Quick work with Rey’s black jacket managed to help her retain a boxy look in keeping with her dark pants. Feeling ridiculous, Rey ran a hand through her hair and jogged up the steps. 

“I’m off to the morgue. I’ll see you soon,” Thompson said as he paid the driver to take their luggage to Maz’s place. Rey dug in her pocket for a few dollars and he waved her off. 

“Just pay attention,” he said. “And don’t be afraid to ask questions. Don’t let them intimidate you.” And then he disappeared, swallowed by a wave of people rushing down stairwells. Rey swallowed, wiping sweating palms on her pant legs and began to search for the HQ for the murder investigations.  

The briefing was to be held on the third floor and a uniformed officer took pity on her starry eyed wanderings to lead her to the room. It was a spacious conference room where several men clustered together. The paint was faded and watery sunlight came through a grimy window at one end. She took note of the coffee pot puffing at one end and the lieutenant in the corner, conferring with a captain. Extracting her introduction letter from Lt Wexley, Rey made her way across the room, forcing the anxiety down. It edged up her throat, threatening to spill out, and she pointed out to herself that none of the other men looked nervous. Rather they looked weary or annoyed. Much like at home. 

“What’s this?” the lieutenant barked, an elegant tow headed man with hard eyes. He snatched the letter from Rey and tore it open. She let herself swallow but wouldn’t let herself lick her dry lips. The lieutenant hmphed as he read the letter and she rocked on her heels, sure her boots were inappropriate for city walking. 

“Jones. I’ve been expecting you. Your lieutenant wired over yesterday you’d be coming. Glad to have you,” he eventually said, folding the letter and cramming it in his pocket. “I’m Thaniasson. We’re just about to brief.”

“Thank you, sir,” she replied, taking a step back before Thaniasson snapped his fingers together and beckoned someone over. 

“I’ve got a local here for you to work with,” Thaniasson said distractedly. “Kylo! Keep an eye on this kid would you?” Rey stiffened at his words and opened her mouth to argue when Thaniasson winked at her. “Lighten up would you? Kylo’s a kid too. Not letting the babies run the candy shop.” Her cheeks flooded and she turned her indignant gaze to her partner who, to her surprise, merely tucked his hands in his pockets and looked blandly at Thaniasson. Wondering if this was how he teased, Rey offered a half grin and Thaniasson ducked his head, walking toward the front. 

Clearing her throat, Rey stepped back to face Kylo more fully. He was a tall man, with lush dark hair brushing his shoulders. His dark eyes were lined with thick dark lashes and she wondered how he easily he must win fights with his bulky frame. But it was muscles with grace. He appeared broad but lithe and she nodded a greeting. Kylo smirked.

“So they’ve given me a little country mouse,” he drawled and she bristled. 

“Obviously, you needed some country if you big city boys haven’t been able to solve this,” she shot back, derision hard in her voice. Kylo chuffed. 

“Is that what they told you? That you could help us solve this?” She met this glare head on and a corner of his lips tugged up in a smile. 

“This isn’t hunting cows down and rounding up horse thieves.”

Rey drew back. “Seriously, that’s the best insult you could come up with? I thought you boys here got a real edumacation.” She deliberately drew the word out, angling her drawl thicker than usual. Kylo’s brows drew together, an annoyed line at best, she thought. 

“Listen, kid,” he bit out. “I don’t need a partner. I’ve got this handled.”

“You got it so well handled another woman died.” Kylo opened his mouth and then shut it with a snap, regret coloring his features. Rey inhaled deeply, surprised to see that something could touch him. She found him distasteful and insulting. Hustling horse thieves, indeed. 

“Everyone take a seat!” Thaniasson called out and the air filled with scrapes of wood on tile, chairs groaning as cops settled around on tables or in old cracked wooden chairs. Kylo glared at Rey as he slammed himself down into a chair. Rey shook her head, biting the inside of her cheek, as she sat down and pulled out her notebook. 

Kylo did not have one, she huffed, air hot in her nose.. She spread her legs wide, watching the other men rub their noses, adjust their vests or trousers, or adjust their collars. Thaniasson began the briefing with a clap of his hands and a clearing of his throat. 

“Enough chit chat ladies. We’ve got to a killer on the loose and the mayor on my ass.”

“And if he’s on ours, then you’re on ours right?” another cop tossed out and laughter rippled through the room. 

“You got it,” Thaniasson said, pointing a blunt finger at the voice. “And today we are welcoming several officers from around the country. I’ve already set some of them up as partners with you. Show them around the city. Give them a chance to visit the sites. Maybe some fresh eyes will give us something we hadn’t seen before.” He blew out his air and rubbed his forehead and Rey felt her heart ache for him. This had to be tough on anyone in leadership position. 

She frowned as that thought hit her and leaned over to whisper to Kylo: “I didn’t see it in my files. Did anyone speak to the families? Of the victims, I mean.”

“Don’t think questions will impress me.” 

“I’m not looking to impress you.”

“Good then you won’t be disappointed when I leave you behind.” She drew back, staring at the strange man whose cheek twitched. She wondered if the reason the police had solved the case was not a problem with the killer but a problem with the force itself. Starting right here with this privileged prat of a man. She wondered how much deeper his condescension would go if he found out she was a woman. 

And as the thought struck her, as she studied his face, and the anger he was directing at Thaniasson, Rey wondered what he was hiding. And how that might be the way to go about this investigation. She stared at him for a beat longer before turning away and watching Thaniasson. 

Thaniasson introduced all of the visiting detectives and Rey raised her hand in a half-wave as Rey Jones of Jakku was introduced. She noticed a few interested looks in her way and wondered how many questions she was going to get on the frontier and if they still used horses. She hated that question.. 

Thaniasson spoke at some length about the area in which the murders were occurring. Rey studied the map, seeing the lines and markers for the first time. She scribbled rapidly in her notebook. The report she had received stated the bodies were not claimed yet. If the families weren’t coming forward, then the bodies should still be available to examine. And if she could just touch them for a second, she could see. 

“I want some fresh ideas,” Thaniasson concluded, snapping her out of her reverie. “Next couple of days, I’m going to meet with our new pairs and see what you’ve come up with. Bring your city’s tactics and styles here. Help us see what we are missing. We’ve got people out there afraid to go out in the evenings. Let’s restore safety to our city.” There was a loud scraping of chairs on floors and the quiet murmurs rose into voices hurriedly talking with random bursts of laughter. Rey rested her chin in her hand and watched the men filter out, a few clustering around the lieutenant, and let her mind wander. She wanted to talk to the families. She wanted to know the girls. 

“Find the girl, find the killer,” she murmured to herself and Kylo gave her a sharp look.

“What?” 

“Just thinking out loud,” she replied.

“I didn’t know they encouraged that out west. Aren’t you all too busy figuring out where your next meal is coming from?” He flicked a distasteful gaze over her slim frame. “Are all boys as slight as you out there? How do you even take down criminals?”

“How do you even see criminals through that massive ego of yours?” 

“Look, I don’t need someone following me around, dogging my investigation,” Kylo bared his teeth at her. Rey’s eyes narrowed. 

“And I don’t need you to help me out. I’ll be fine on my own,” she spat, rising quickly and striding toward the door.  She heard a hand slap a table and tossed a quick glance over her shoulder to see Kylo punch the table, a grimace loud on his face. She wondered what his problem was before banishing it and getting lost in the building as she found her way to the morgue. 

“What a jackass,” she muttered. She reached the basement level, windows gone now and replaced by gas lamps with the faint hint of camphor in the air. Rey wrinkled her nose at the sharp medicinal smell as she approached a heavy steel door at the end of a hallway. As she opened the door, she let out a brief laugh at Thompson leaning over a body. He already looked at home, his white hair wild, and face made grotesque by golden goggles. 

“I was wondering when you’d get here,” Thompson remarked. He gestured toward the man across the body from him. The other man was short with a trim black beard and calming eyes. 

“Finn Prince, medical examiner,” the other man greeted.

“You must be Thompson’s friend.”

“One of,” Prince agreed readily. “But he easily makes friends everywhere.”

“It’s keeping them that’s the problem,” Thompson grunted. 

“Who'd they pair you with then?” Rodriguez asked amicably. “I heard Thaniasson had some wild idea of pairing people up.” 

“Kylo Ren,” she replied, bending over the body. “This one of them?”

“Oh poor man. That guy can’t keep a partner,” Finn remarked and Rey shot up.

“Why’s that?”

“He’s one of the old nobility, really. One of the best educations in the country. Leia Organa’s son.” He noted Rey’s puzzled stare and let out a hoarse laugh. “She was the leader of the Rebellion. The one that liberated us from the Empire’s rule.” Rey nodded, sure the name was spoken in her brief classes, long ago. This must be one of the things men learn, she thought almost bitterly before turning back to the body.

“Well he’s not very welcoming.”

“He’s a lone wolf, one of the best out there though.”  Rey looked down at the young male, barely out of adolescence, stretched out on the table. His skin had an odd green pallor and he smelled, far more than a body usually did. It reminded her of trout and garbage and she pinched her nose. She noted the ragged line around his throat and grimaced as Thompson used a pair of tweezers to remove some sort of insect from the cut. 

“We can use the insects to determine time of death. Or that’s the theory,” Finn explained quietly as he offered a petri dish for Thompson to drop the insect into and then whisked it away. Thompson swing his grizzled head toward Jones. 

“Or you can do your thing.” Rey shuffled her feet and looked away, all too aware of the many pairs of eyes now fastened on her. 

“It doesn’t always work,” she mumbled and Thompson made a huffing noise. 

“It doesn’t matter. We know how he died. Cut throat then drowned.”

“Then what do you need more for?” she challenged and Thompson pushed the goggles up on his head. He stared balefully at her and she folded her arms across her chest. The dangers were too much, she tried to communicate to him with her glare. Her gift was erratic at best and could cause far too much interest in her. Thompson sighed explosively. 

“I trust Finn. Do it.” Scrunching her face up in anger, Rey slammed her fist on the table. But her knuckle accidentally grazed the bare foot sticking out under the sheet and before she could stop it, she was assaulted with images. She let out a strangled cry and crumpled to the floor. 

_ It was dark and the waves splashed on the rocks, a loud slapping on the pier as the wharf swayed underneath him. The river splashed over the dock's edge as rain lashed down on them. The large man moved toward him, jumping up from the boat, a hat drawn low over his brow.  _

_ “I did what you want,” the victim cried, a desperate edge to his voice. The large man smirked.  _

_ “Thank you,” he replied before he moved swiftly and pain lanced through the victim, sharp and sudden, before his vision blurred. The darkness swirled around him, pulling at him, wrapping icy tentacles around her. It promised so much. No more pain. No more need to hide who she was. If she would just let go, it seemed to whisper, as it tightened. She could feel the life ebbing away, the man shuddering as the dock was slapped with angry waves. Salt filled his mouth/filled her mouth and she wasn't sure where she ended and he began. She twisted and turned, light glimmering at the edges and she snapped it, struggling against the waves pulling her down. The man's life slipped away as the tide washed over him and she reached, reached, reached, breath freezing in her lungs-- _

Rey shot up with a gasp, hand fisting in someone’s shirt. Her breath burned in her throat and her heart stuttered a few times until it founds its rhythm. She caught a sob as it tried to leave her mouth, grinding her teeth together, as she blindly grasped the hand next to her and allowed them to haul her to her feet. She looked up to see Kylo holding her up, an odd look on his face, before she snatched her hand away. 

“What are you?” he demanded. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep for dirigible think of the Heindenberg and definitely think of the coffee scenes from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (it might be blasphemy for saying it but that is definitely my favorite) 
> 
> The New Manhattan police building is modeled off the old NYC Headquarters. [240 Centre St](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/240_Centre_Street). 
> 
> In the mishmash of this universe with ours, there will always be NY, Paris, and London. For Niima, think of a rustic Saint Louis. (Or further north, such as Hannibal, Mark Twain's hometown).


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo makes a startling discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work ate away at my life the past month. I don't even remember the last time I was on this site. That's over now though. Woohoo! Time to catch up on some fics! 
> 
> As a reminder, Rey masquerades as a man in this world as Ray Jones. Since this chapter is from Kylo's POV, that's how he will think of her. Hope you enjoy it!

Kylo Ren paced the floor of his postage stamp sized office. He knew its dimensions by heart. 2 long strides to either side or 4 short shuffling steps. He didn’t shuffle now, hands clasped behind his back, shoulders hunched, and guilt eating away at him, his mother’s sharp voice a distinct ringing in his ears. 

No matter how much he tried to forget Ben Solo, his mother’s lessons were ingrained into his very cellular structure. 

He was her son, the mantra drummed into him repeatedly until the tattoo existed with every beat of his heart. 

With a huff, and pinching the bridge of his nose, Kylo straightened and vowed to apologize to the pipsqueak of a detective assigned to him. He was small, even more so to Kylo, his hazel eyes bright and quick. And something about him tugged at Kylo, an itch that had him constantly pulling at his collar and loosening his tie. 

There was something mysterious about him: the tip of his lips; the dip in his chin; or the way those eyes roved around the room. 

Kylo flung open his office door and stumbled onto his so called colleagues gossiping over the visitors. 

“Hey, Ren,” one grinned, dabbing his cigar, ash spilling on the floor. Kylo swallowed a grimace. “You got the runt of the litter.”

“A funny pair you’ll make,” another joked. “Your height, his lack of it--plus that face!”

“Purty boy,” the other purred, pulling on his cigar. “You going to take him down to the Battery and find him someone? Might as well get something good out of his time here.” Kylo bared his teeth at him.

“Perhaps if you actually spent time down there you could do actually detecting rather than gossiping like old women,” he snapped, pushing his way through them. He heard them shouting after him but shook it off. 

He had no time for fools. 

And Ray’s question about the families was not a foolish question. They did not know the victims, not really. Just the circumstances of their deaths and a sense of their lives in the weeks leading up to it. But perhaps there was a something connecting all the victims. 

Perhaps, Kylo thought with sinister glee, perhaps they had families in the Jedi monastery. There, he might find his tangible thread, his excuse to rip down those walls that mocked him. 

He stopped by the desk sergeant and inquired about his wayward partner and, after being informed that he had gone into the morgue, clattered down the steps. He growled as the sharp smell of antiseptic hit his nostrils. He covered his face with a handkerchief and heard Finn’s soft voice followed his partner’s oddly throaty one and raised a brow. Friends already, he thought. And as he entered the room, he watched Ray touch a dead’s man foot, the hair raising on his neck as he felt aether flow through him, breath stuck in his throat, goosebumps rippling along his arms. 

And Ray gasped, his eyes widening, skin flashing white.

Without thinking, Kylo tore across the room and jerked the smaller man away. He tumbled into his arms and they fall into a heap on the floor. And as he felt the aether slip away, Ray’s body no longer trembling, the truth gripped Kylo hard. 

The shape of the bones, the slim column of the neck, the graceful curve of the shoulder. Kylo could see where she rubbed something onto her cheeks and jaw to give her the appearance of roughened shaved skin. Surprise raced through him before a wild glee took ahold. 

Ray was opening her eyes, hand groping from something, and Kylo grabbed it, hauling her to her feet. He was aware of Finn and another doctor staring at them when she ran a hand over her bleary face, bright eyes landing on him.

“Who are you?” he demanded. 

“Now, lad,” the other doctor said and Kylo shook him off. 

“That was a dangerous use of aether!” Kylo thundered. “Who taught you to do that? And why?”

“No one taught me,” Ray admitted weakly, chin lifting defiantly. Kylo sighed and shoved her onto a chair before turning to Finn and barking an order for some brandy. He narrowed his eyes at her as he whirled around to glare at her. It was a mostly good cover, he thought, although it might raise questions about him. He watched her swallow, the bob in the throat hidden by a tied handkerchief. 

“Someone had to teach you that.” 

“No. I’ve just always done what felt right.” Kylo shook his head. Using the aether was always a gamble. It was a gift, to be sure, but it could kill the user just as easily as help him achieve its means. And for it to be so incredibly drawn to this girl...a girl! The only other woman Kylo knew who could use the aether was his mother.  

And she had to keep it a secret, too. 

“You could have killed yourself. In fact, you probably are trying to kill yourself.” She frowned, a slight flush creeping up her cheeks. 

“It has been getting worse, Ray,” the older scientist interjected. He came around to check on Ray, eyes scanning the other detective’s form. Kylo observed the way he hovered around her, the concern on his face that he tried to hold back, and guessed that Thompson knew about her. And that he probably encouraged her to use her talents without guessing at the consequences.

Meddlesome fool.

Finn came over and Ray took the brandy, sipping gratefully. 

“What were you trying to do?” Kylo asked quietly, his anger wrapped tightly around him like a cloak. 

Rey swallowed and looked up at him, fingers tight around the battered mug that Finn had found for the brandy. 

“I was seeing his last moments.” Kylo’s eyes widened and Rey continued, gaze fixed on the other scientist. “He knew his killer, maybe worked with him. The killer met him on a dock on a stormy night and pushed his body into the river.” 

“That narrows time of death, actually,” Finn said. “We haven’t had a storm like that since last Thursday.” 

“But it’s not much,” Kylo tossed back. “Unless someone reported a man as missing, we don’t know much more than we knew before.” He leveled a piercing gaze at the older doctor. “Do you encourage he--rrrr,,,errrr, ask Ray to do this back in Jakku?”

“He doesn’t demand! I do it!” Ray threw back. Her small frame vibrated with anger and he could see the strength in her hand as she gripped the cup. 

“You need a teacher,” was all he said, albeit wearily, as he dropped onto a stool. He ran a hand over his face. “The aether takes things as you use it. It’s why the Jedi practice martial arts and strength training. It’s why they are on a strict regimen of food. They do harm to themselves everytime they use it.”

“Is this why aether users often die young?” the older scientists asked with an odd quirk of his head. 

Kylo snorted. “That’s probably due more to the fact that they are idiots.” Ray was sitting quietly, staring at the ground, as she listened to Kylo explain about the Jedi. 

“So...the blacking out is supposed to happen?” she asked timidly. Kylo frowned.

“No, it shouldn’t. I don’t know what you are doing. But you should stop before you get yourself into a kind of trouble that you can’t get out of.”  The girl had the audacity to smirk at his statement and Kylo ground his teeth together. Stupid fool. She wanted to kill herself for this job, she was more than welcome to. He had bigger fish to catch. 

But then again. He cocked his head and studied her. Untrained in use of the aether but incredibly powerful. 

She could be useful to him. Use of the aether granted all sorts of power, probably more than she was aware of, the naive thing. But he could be the thing she needed. And it could grant him a way into the monastery. 

Despite the Jedi’s stance on no woman, Luke was more lenient. He trained Leia. He would be interested into the girl.

Kylo cleared his throat and forced himself to look embarrassed. “Look, I came down here to apologize for earlier. You were right. We haven’t talk to the families and it is a good idea.”

“I could have told you that,” Finn mumbled. “And not just for the medical histories.” 

“Well, I’m sorry,” Kylo added somewhat lamely. The girl looked surprised before faint amusement tugged up the corner of her mouth. He smiled back, intrigued by that response. He wondered if she heard apologies often and decided people often underestimated her. 

He wouldn’t. Not again. 

“And,” he added, “I would like to talk you to about the aether. I can help you control it.”

“Can you?” Thompson asked with a frown. “You have Jedi training?”

Finn bit out a harsh laugh. “I forgot you country folk don’t know our royalty in the city.” Kylo hunched his shoulders as Finn added: “This is Luke Skywalker’s nephew.   


“ _ The  _ Luke Skywalker?” Ray asked and Kylo wanted to snarl, to rage. But here was his key.

“Yes,” he found himself saying. “I can introduce you.”

“Why don’t you have your mother’s last name?” Thompson asked, suspicion creeping around his eyes.

“Wanted to make a name of my own, not rely on my family.” The lie came easily enough and Thompson nodded. Pulling oneself up by the bootstraps appealed to the country mentality.  People like an independent man. 

“You’re going to need to food after that stunt, er, um,” Kylo said and Ray laughed. 

“Don’t hide how you truly feel.”

“Are you going to let me buy you food or what?” he shot back, irritated and Ray laughed again. The color was back in her cheeks and she gave him another amused look, glee in those bright eyes. She could be pretty, he thought idly, and wondered what her real name was. 

“I never say no to food,” she replied, demurely enough, the classical woman’s training coming through. She caught herself and forced herself into a slouch, almost sloppily. She, too, lived her life slave to a strict regimen of rules and he felt a twinge of sympathy for her. 

Stop, he ordered. Don’t develop feelings for the prey. 

Then you won’t feel anything when they die in the trap you set. 

She looked up at him expectantly and he gestured toward the door, forcing himself from stopping with the prerequisite elbow offer for a lady. 

“Food’s this way,” he said  gruffly, and led her out of the morgue and into the lights of the city above. 


End file.
